Among the Dead
by starrynight1213
Summary: In a post-apocalyptic world, four lonely people try their best to survive among the dead. Kay, Modern AU, eventual Erik/Christine. (Nadir and Raoul prominent characters). Detailed update calendar in my profile.
1. Fesenjan

**Hey Everyone! So, I'm pretty sure this has never been done before… zombie apocalypse AU for Phantom of the Opera? Read on if you're interested! Point of views change, but not within the chapter. And just so you know, Erik takes things in stride, so this chapter will not be that crazy. Christine most definitely does **_**not **_**take things in stride, so expect more realistic panic next chapter. Without further ado, I bring you…**

Among the Dead

_Erik_

_April 2018  
_

I must admit that despite all I had seen in this godforsaken world, I never quite imagined that I would one day witness a corpse walk himself out of a morgue. The take-out box Nadir had been holding dropped to the floor rather anti-climactically, his fesenjan spreading across the ground like some sort of unholy offering to the newly resurrected corpse. I regret to say that I stood there just as dumbfounded as Nadir, who had called me in that night to investigate the cadaver of Gerard Hopkins.

"This is the twelfth casualty at Memorial alone, Erik. I need another mind on this. I need _your_ mind on this." His voice had scratched over the cell phone earlier that day. I had not intended to come originally. However, four deaths in two days brought to mind stunning possibilities: a terrorist virus, or perhaps poison. If it were not yet a weapon, it would be an interesting project to make it so. For the sake of science, of course. That being said, I had fully intended to make my way to the Memorial Hospital morgue, permission or no. Nadir hadn't needed to know that, though.

"I have no time for your human diseases. My symphony is very nearly completed—not that you would appreciate—"

"It's majesty? It's grandeur? I'll listen to it all you want if you come here tonight!"

"Like your filthy ears could even _begin _to comprehend _my_ work."

The conversation had gone much along those lines, as per usual, until I agreed to lend my talents if Nadir granted me access to the medical lab for a few uninterrupted hours. Not that I couldn't have gotten in on my own. It was simply... cleaner with Nadir's help.

As the once-dead Mr. Hopkins stared at us with unblinking eyes, I regretted holding out on coming for quite so long. Though I suppose that the dead man presented a rather unique and unforeseen opportunity. How many could say that they had performed a post-mortem on a responsive patient?

My days in America had made me lax, though, and it wasn't until he took a menacing step towards us that I smelled the sharp stench of freshly spilled blood in the air. The case of the missing nurse was solved, it seemed. Well, if piles of blood didn't bring back instincts from Iran and Afghanistan, I doubted that anything could.

Quicker than I had been in many months (years, now that I truly think on it), I snatched Nadir's dark wrist in my hand and yanked him along behind me, leaving the walking corpse behind. Nadir had clearly gotten gluttonous since his life in Afghanistan, and by the time we were halfway up the stairs, I was sure that he was going to alert the hospital to our location with sound of his heaving gasps.

"Someone hasn't been using the treadmill they invested in." I remarked dryly, pushing open the morgue exit with my shoulder. After Nadir had made his way through, I took to barricading the door as best I could with an office desk and water cooler.

"Erik… I don't believe you are taking this seriously enough." Nadir commented lightly.

I glanced at the poor man to affirm that he wasn't going in to shock; while his eyes were wide and he was leaning against the wall, he looked no worse than he had the first time he had seen my face. He would be fine with my help, though I'm sure he would whine his way to the bitter end of whatever journey that we had begun down in the morgue.

"You are the one being useless. Come, help me keep the poor Mr. Hopkins and whatever else may be down there securely away from us. Then you can alert the authorities, Memorial will be flattened and made into a remembrance garden, and we will relocate once more. Perhaps Spain. Are you quite ready to learn another language?"

While my monologue had appeared to calm Nadir down considerably (I will admit that my voice was a drug in itself if one was distracted enough), the scream that erupted from down the hall brought the both of us crashing into the present moment. A ginger-haired nurse that I had seen once or twice during Nadir's residency ran around the corner and collapsed, her pale fingers clenched across her neck in a vain attempt to prolong her clearly ending life. The front of her blue scrubs were quite red. The white of her skin and the colors of her scrubs were very nearly patriotic. A rather rotund young man staggered around the corner, his skin the same grey pallor as that of the dearly departed Mr. Hopkins.

"The first victim—Edward Langdon." Nadir, calmer than I had expected the old man to be, stated as he slowly backed away. "It appears we have an epidemic on our hands."

"Pity. I had been hoping to finish that symphony in the near future."

I could feel Nadir's cold glare on my back as we ran.

* * *

After much debate, Nadir pulled up to his small Chicago apartment. I had argued that the music and equipment at my apartment was worth much more than anything that could be found in his tiny studio horror house, but as it was his car, I suppose that he could make whatever idiotic driving decision he wanted to. That did not mean that I had to enter his dirty hovel of a home.

"You are a child." He had snapped as he closed the door.

Dear Nadir was _very_ fortunate that I had taken to leaving my lasso at home.

My Iranian friend was a punctual man, though, and it hardly been five minutes when he slowly trotted back to his car, two large bags in hand. I considered making a comment on the sluggish state of his body, but I supposed that I could take pity on him. He was of weaker stuff, and I was sure that this night was taking a toll on him.

The drive to my condo was decidedly uneventful, and Nadir had even had the audacity to suggest that perhaps it wasn't as bad as we thought. I'd found through my life that optimism was hastily rewarded with disappointment and death, and quickly told him so. I couldn't afford to be too kind to the man—I certainly didn't want him getting the idea that there was some sort of equality in our friendship.

As expected, Nadir's hopes were cut down quickly and brutally when he turned on the news. I began to organize the necessities as the public service announcement droned on in the background.

"It appears that several hospitals in the Midwest have experienced what appears to be an extreme form of rabies, including Chicago, Madison, Columbia, and Indianapolis. All residents are asked to not leave their homes under any circumstances, and to seek shelter immediately. All major hospitals are hereby under quarantine. While all official reports of the new disease have been in major city hospitals, we have received numerous unofficial reports of breakouts at other highly populated areas, such as neighborhoods, college campuses, and schools. While we do not know what has caused the disease, or how it is spread, initial reports suggest that many of the victims appear dead before entering a rabid—"

"Would you turn that drivel off?" I snapped, before doing so myself. "Yes, it is exactly as every zombie apocalyptic story has predicted. Shall I dine on your brain now, or would you prefer that I waited until you were sleeping?"

"Oh, Erik. Do you truly think this is… zombies? It seems so ridiculous."

"You were the one to declare Hopkins dead. Either you are a much worse doctor than I had originally feared, or there is some sort of disease that either masquerades its victim as a corpse or reanimates the body. As interesting as it seems, I would much rather be far away from any such disease."

"I don't know if we should leave, Erik." Nadir stood now, scratching the back of his neck with stubby fingers. "Perhaps it would be best to wait this out."

"And be just another victim in this petri dish of a city?"

"I—perhaps you are right." He was silent a moment longer, as though doubting my plan. Moron. "We must hurry, then. I'm sure that the highways will be unbreachable by tomorrow night."

"If they are not already." I had returned to packing my bags without another comment. Unfortunately, a majority of my music would need to be left behind. Perhaps I could find room for my violin. If Nadir complained, I would merely kill him. My music was a much better companion.

"Erik?"

I appraised him coldy.

"Have you thought that we may be infected?"

Perhaps Nadir was not as unintelligent as he acted.

"Of course I have considered that. If we aren't, we will take all necessary precautions to keep it that way. If not, well, you should begin to pray to your Allah that someone finds the mercy to shoot us in the heads. Though I suppose I cannot look much worse, zombie infection or no."

He nodded, unsmiling at my poor attempt at a joke, and began to help me gather as much unperishable food that would fit into his clunker of a car.

"I do hope that you filled up this morning. I fear that it will likely be impossible to get gasoline legally from here on out."

"Allah has granted me one small blessing. I am very nearly full."

"I suppose that will have to do. Nadir, one more thing."

Swooping down, I pulled two gas masks out from underneath my couch.

"I had obtained these in the event of a nuclear fallout or chemical attack. I suppose zombie apocalypse is appropriate as well."

He looked as though he were about to comment on the face that there were two gas masks, but I sent him the most withering glare I could muster without becoming enraged. He took the hint and secured his mask to his face. Clearing his throat, he looked up at the ceiling. I hastily removed my black mask and placed the gas mask on my face. It appeared that the black mask would not be nearly as vital to my survival in the upcoming days. After packing proper medicinal supplies and weaponry (I was sure that Nadir was going to have a hernia when I revealed just how much firepower I had been keeping in my apartment), covering as much skin as possible, and organizing the food as best we could, the two of us quickly left my apartment.

"Would you like to say goodbye?" Nadir had asked as I locked my door behind me and pocketed the key.

"To an insentient place of residence? Perhaps you are infected Nadir; you appear to be quite delirious." He remained silent after that, at least until we approached the highway entrance. Pity. I had almost believed that this hasty escape might be peaceful.

"Allah willing, this affair will only last a few days."

My earlier comment on optimism hung heavy between us, and no more words were spoken that night.


	2. Mark Reynolds

Among the Dead

_Christine_

_April 2018_

I still dreamed of that last winter. Raoul had taken Papa and I on a skiing trip for Christmas.; it had been the best month of my life. Snow had settled heavy on the Colorado mountains, transforming the small resort town into a fairyland that reminded me of the tales Papa tell when I was little. I would sometimes pretend that I was a golden princess, and Raoul was my brave and armored knight, climbing the great glass mountain to secure my hand in marriage. I had never told Raoul any of that, of course. He would have laughed at my silliness. Still, the mountains were beautiful. Papa would sit by the fire and watch through the frosted window as Raoul and I skied and played in the snow. I could still taste the hot chocolate (without marshmallows, of course), could still hear Papa's violin, and could feel Raoul's hands warming mine after a day in the snow.

I could still feel it, but none of those things belonged in this place. It was warm here-too warm. My forehead was dripping with what I prayed to be sweat. There was no time- _there was no time._

I nearly collapsed in fear as another scream erupted from behind me. I prayed to God that the stairway was still clear. My lungs throbbed- no, my lungs _heaved-_ but with one more rattling breath, I ran. I ran past the practice rooms, the classrooms, the baby grand piano- I ran past all of it and threw myself at the stairwell door with as much force as I could muster.

There was no time!

I had been stupid-so stupid!- when I didn't go with Meg right away. We had been hurriedly packing our possessions to the sound of the Emergency Broadcast System when the phone had rung. It had been dear, sweet, Raoul, calling to make sure that I was safe. Meg had begged me to leave it behind, but I had told her to give me five minutes. Raoul needed to know where I was, where I was going.

"Get to your Dad's house, Christine! I'll find you. I promise that I'll find you, Christine! I'll-"

The phone had cut off. I had tried to call Papa, but he hadn't picked up. I had a sudden image of him dead on the kitchen floor, or being brought up to heaven in the Rapture and leaving me here alone on Earth. Before I had been able to do anything else, screams had erupted from Jamie's room.

And they had been everywhere! it Half of the school had to have caught whatever plague this was.

Now, I had five minutes to get to Parking Lot D as people around me were panicking and, God have mercy, dying. Recklessly, I threw myself into the outside door and ran, my flip flops snapping against the pavement. Why hadn't I changed into sneakers when I had the time? I was so _stupid. _I veered around the dorm building and pulled to a dead stop. The top of my flip flop, unable to handle it any longer, popped off, leaving the bottom on the ground behind me.

Mark Reynolds, the jerk who lived in the coed dorm house next to mine, was standing twenty feet in front of me, and he was one of them: dead, but not really. I never liked the guy, but I never wanted this to happen to him! His skin was grey, his eyes were glassy, and- _God, his arm was gone_!

Whatever was left of my sanity fled. Screaming for mercy, I took off running, heedless of direction. Good God, I was going to die! This was the end of the world and I wasn't worthy to go to heaven. I would wander around until Mark Reynolds, the jerk, would eat my arm and turn me into one of those- those zombies! There was no hope! I had left my Bible in my dorm and Meg was Jewish, so we were both cursed to become mindless walking dead and go to hell, oh god, I _hated_ fire, and there was no way I could survive in hell and there was _no way_ I could _ever_ survive a zombie apocalypse-

"Stop screaming, Christine!"

The force of Meg's slap snapped my head to the side. Without ceremony, she shoved me into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. Effortlessly, she leapt over the front of the car and slid into the front seat, neatly shutting the door behind her. The sane part of my mind appreciated how cool that had looked. The rest of me, though, was trying to stop gasping for air like a drowning dog.

Biting her bottom lip, Meg turned the engine on and floored it. Well, the speed certainly wasn't helping my stomach. I couldn't contain a small, panicked moan.

After glancing at me, Meg shoved my head in between my knees. She always knew what to do. Dependable Meg. I love Meg. She would get me out of this. She would get me to Raoul. God, when had I lost a shoe? I hoped that Meg had her soccer equipment in the car. Nobody wanted to fight zombies with one shoe. I felt like I was about to throw up.

"I'm going to Carly's house. If she's not home, we're just going to have to head up to Illinois without her. I'm assuming you want to get to your Dad's house?"

I made a noise in the back of my throat that somewhat resembled a sound of agreement. God, there was no way I was going to make it through this.

* * *

After determining that Carly wasn't home, Meg and I stood in the driveway, emptying out her trunk. We both pointedly ignored the puke outside the passenger seat door.

"I have some backup soccer equipment. That will have to work for now, I think." She began to gingerly pull out the shin and elbow pads, passing off her backups to me as she put her own on. I felt slightly better after throwing up, honestly. It was just hard to get my thoughts together. Weren't there movies everywhere about zombies and the Rapture and surviving? I just needed to _think._

"Wait. Meg, do you have any duct tape?"

She quirked an eyebrow, but ducked into the back of her trunk, pulling two rolls out.

"If we put them on our body, the zom- um, the teeth won't be able to get us. Do you think they bite? Oh my god. This is so screwed up."

"Good, Christine!" Meg exclaimed, ignoring the end of my sentence. With a grin, she yanked the tape off and began to secure it around her arm.

Did she really have to be so condescending? Though, I guess that I had been acting like a child, screaming and throwing up all over the place. Meg deserved better. Papa and Raoul deserved better. After taking a stabilizing breath, I resolved to be stronger from here on out. Come what may, I would get to Papa, I would get to Raoul, and I would get through this.

Hopefully, without anymore vomiting.


	3. Fire Starter

_Nadir_

_April 2018_

Despite what I had hoped, Erik and I only made it a few hours down the highway before we found ourselves at a dead stop. It was absolutely miserable, and I had survived Afghanistan. A late April chill pervaded into the old walls of the car, freezing me to the bone. The gas mask was heavy and uncomfortable; I could not imagine how I could possibly keep it on for another moment, let alone the foreseeable future.

To make it worse, Erik had not been the only one who decided that fleeing was for the best. We were surrounded by mini vans and trucks, all filled with a vast assortment of people. My gaze flickered to the right yet again. For the past hour, we had found ourselves next to a family car with a particularly frightened child. He had taken one look of our gas masks in the window and had promptly burst into loud, wailing tears that could somehow be heard through my car.

"That woman needs to take better care of her abominable child." Erik snapped when the child began to pound on the window. I silently agreed, but the mother seemed to be more concerned with her own crying to take any notice of her baby at the moment.

The child's cries did not cease, and the honks of the cars only seemed to get louder. I was becoming increasingly more worried for Erik's sanity. His glove-clad hands were clasped steadfastly around his knees with alarming strength. It had been many years since he had killed, and Erik had never sought out the death of a child, but if this kept up...

"Perhaps it is time for us to leave the highway." I suggested lightly. The child let out a particularly piercing keen.

"Yes." He said, and I could hardly detect the haste in his tone. "Should military action be called, we will be crushed underneath the American tanks. How little they would care for their citizens then!"

With assurance I did not feel, I flicked on my left turn signal and began a slow migration off of the highway.

Forty minutes later, we found ourselves on the country roads, which were marginally better. Instead of vehicles being at a complete standstill, they were racing past us at alarming speed. More than once, I feared we would be rear-ended by a panicked driver.

In the end, it mattered little. Not half an hour off of the highway, my car began to make the most atrocious noises and slow down considerably. I hastily pulled over to the side of the road, nearly hitting a car going far too fast. The driver's horn blared in the distance as he sped off.

Erik immediately got out, popped open the front of the car, and began to investigate. He didn't take him more than a moment to declare the car unsalvageable.

"It is of no concern. We would have had to leave it behind in a few days anyway—the looters will target those in vehicles first."

From then on, our luck seemed to take a turn for the better. After abandoning my car at the side of a large cornfield, we encountered no serious troubles. Luckily, Erik had the foresight to pack enough food and fire starter to last us a decent amount of time. That night found us huddled near an empty cornfield just out of sight from the road. With practiced fingers, Erik began to build a small fire.

"Is this truly the best idea?" Usually, he would not have graced my opinion with a response. It appeared that he was in an uncharacteristically good mood.

"Must you question everything I do, Nadir? Humans enjoy deluding themselves with morals and beliefs. It will be a few days yet before we need to hide ourselves."

His lack of faith in humanity discouraged me. Still, I doubt that Erik would have survived this long without it. I had hoped that after leaving Afghanistan, he would have learned to tolerate humanity... but perhaps it was for the best.

With a slight nod to Erik, I walked deeper into the field in order to relieve myself. This was one thing I had not missed about Afghanistan. I had hoped to never have to relieve myself outside again, but it appeared that would not be the case. I hadn't been gone more than a moment, though, when Erik's panicked voice echoed around me.

"Nadir!"

In all my years, I had seen few things that had actually made Erik panic—I _ran._

When I arrived at our little campsite, slightly out of breath, I was shocked to find a young girl to be the culprit of Erik's fears. She clung to his thin wrist frantically, babbling in some assuredly European language. Though I could not see his face behind the gas mask, I could sense the distress in his posture: the sooner the girl stopped touching him, the better. Quickly, I ran over and pried her off of Erik. She spun around and clung to my arms instead. She continued to stammer, trying to convey something I could not understand.

She was beautiful. She was _young_, too, eighteen years old at the most. Her hair curtained her face in brown waves that reminded me of Rookheeya. Large brown eyes gazed up at me frantically, still begging for something in her foreign tongue.

"I—English! Do you speak English?"

The girl only looked more distressed. I was sure that this was not going to end well.

Now that he was safe from physical contact, Erik seemed to have sufficiently composed himself and responded to the girl in her tongue. Almost immediately, the girl began to sob, relieved at hearing her own language.

A rather confusing conversation ensued, which resulted in the girl flinging herself to the ground and sobbing uncontrollably in despair.

"Erik! Is she all right?"

"She is fine. She asked for help, and I informed her that she would find none here."

"Erik! Of course she will!"

"Nadir—"

"Erik."

I gave him what I hoped was my most stern glance. He looked as though he were about to spit at my feet, and I feared that he would actually send the child away.

"You're feeding her." He spat at me before saying something to the girl. She began to laugh in relief and, to my horror, kiss his feet. With a snarl, Erik tore them away from her and stormed off, presumably to strangle a squirrel or some other forest animal.

Gently, I knelt down beside the girl. This was becoming more of a mess than I had anticipated. What could I say to the child? She did not even speak my language! She turned her eyes to my gas mask. I did the only thing I could.

"Nadir." I said slowly, pointing at my chest

She blinked once, twice, before pointing slim fingers to herself.

"Luciana."


	4. Holocaust Museum

_Christine_

_April 2018_

Apparently, the heater in Meg's car only operated on non-existent or somewhere right outside the Sahara Desert. I shot her a glare as I mopped sweat of my brow... again. I honestly don't think that Meg had lifted her foot of the break in the last twenty minutes. We were going no where! And that wasn't the only problem. Her shoes were ridiculously big on me. Why couldn't she have been born with a smaller foot size? On top of that, some stupid yellow car had been in front of us for the last two exits, which meant the last hour and a half. I hated that stupid car. It was the most nauseating shade of yellow that I had ever seen. And, it had the most _obnoxious _driver. Like, the exact opposite of someone that you should try to be. The stupid car rocked with the volume of their stupid music. Just because it was the end of the world didn't mean common courtesy was just thrown out the window, right?

"Carpe Diem!" The dude in the yellow car screeched out his window as he waved a bottle of alcohol in the air. I bet the guy didn't even know what carpe diem meant. Jerk.

As the guy downed a drink from his bottle, Meg's fingers got even whiter on her fluffy pink steering wheel.

"If it takes us longer than twenty minutes to get to the next exit, I'm getting off the highway." Meg growled through her teeth. I hastily nodded. Anything to get away from that stupid driver and all of these stupid honking cars.

When the guy in front of us stuck his head out of his sunroof, a bottle of alcohol in his hand, Meg slammed her palm onto the horn.

"Get down, ass hole!"

He didn't hear her. With wide eyes, he gazed in terror at something behind us. As if to highlight the whole "life's about to get a lot worse" feel of the situation, the bottle in his hand dropped and shattered on the ground.

I whipped my head behind me. Things literally couldn't be worse. About twenty cars behind us, people were abandoning their vehicles and running at a dead sprint in our direction. There was only one thing that could be chasing them.

Ignoring the pinprick of frustrated tears, I fumbled for the door handle and flung myself out of the car. Meg was already out on her side; with a final look at each other, we _ran_.

Almost immediately, I wiped out on the door of the stupid yellow car. The drunk girl in the back seat looked at me in bewilderment, as if surprised that I was running away from the zombie herd.

"_Move_." I snapped with more acidity than I thought myself capable. She just stared at me as I shoved myself off of the ground. Meg was already a good four cars in front of me. Slamming the door out of my way, I took off after her.

Luckily, I was able to avoid the rest of the rapidly opening car doors, though it was without much grace. The crowd was slowly thickening, people running with babies and guns and God knows what else.

"Meg!" I screamed, hoping that she could hear me. "Meg, we need to get off the road! We'll be trampled!"

She gave no indication that she had heard me, but a moment later, I saw her make her way to the side. Stumbling in my slightly too large shoes, I followed. Even as I shoved my way past them, people barreled forward, disregarding Meg and I. Finally, we made it to a dead cornfield on the side of the road. Since I was no longer obstructed by the screaming masses, I was able to catch up with Meg. Short stalks of dry corn cut at my ankles as I ran. Were we even going fast enough? For all I knew, these zombie things had super speed or something! Oh God, I didn't know what to do!

"Christine!"

Meg stopped, and I ran straight into her back, nearly knocking her onto the ground.

What had once been a young woman stood ten feet in front of us. Absurdly, all I could think about was that her dress was very pretty, except for all of the blood on the bottom. It was blue and floral- I would have asked her where she bought it. If, you know, she were _alive_.

With a battle cry reminiscent of Vikings and warriors, Meg hefted her impromptu weapon- a baseball bat- in both hands and ran at the zombie-woman. It's grey hand lifted in defense; it would have been almost human if it weren't for the blood crusted on her fingernails. When Meg got close enough, she swung the baseball bat smack into the zombies forehead.

It's head whipped to the side ferociously. Meg had even dented it's forehead! To my horror, it didn't seem to care about the sizable indentation on it's skull. With a groan, it swung it's grotesque head back towards Meg and took a menacing step towards her. Meg stumbled backwards, her pale arm reaching behind her for some sort of help.

"Hey!" I screamed at the top of my lungs, "Look at me, you ugly jerk! Look at me!"

I began to clap my hands like some absurd seal. God, it would be a miracle if I survived this.

"I said look at me, you zombie freak!"

It swiveled greying eyes towards me, and Meg took the opportunity to hit it in the head again—and again, and again, and again, until what used to be a head was a gross pile of mush.

Unsurprisingly, I threw up again. I really hoped that this pattern of becoming violently ill didn't hold.

Meg grabbed my sweaty hand and yanked me along mid-heave. I decided not to mention that a little throw up got on her jeans. That was just disgusting.

Luckily, we were pretty close to an exit when we'd had to make our escape, so some small southern Illinois town wasn't that far away from us. At some point, we'd slowed down to a hurried walk, which I was infinitely grateful for. If the past three days had been any indication, I should have started running a few years ago. If this ever ended, I would run every day. Maybe every other day.

"Oh my God." Meg said softly.

"Jesus Christ, if it's more zombies, I'm going to throw up again, I know it-"

"Shut up." She said before slapping her hand over my mouth for good measure. Great, now she'd have Christine-Vomit on her hands, too. I had a way of getting throw up on everything, it seemed. Poor Meg. She was the only reason I was still alive, and here I was, thinking bad things about her car and getting vomit all over her.

In front of us, a group of four people walked past us, armed to the teeth. Either they didn't see us or they didn't care, as they didn't leave the road to investigate the two dirty girls hiding behind an abandoned gas station. After they left, Meg quickly removed her hand and wiped it on her jeans.

"What was the problem? It's not like they would have killed us."

"Did you see what they were wearing? Gas masks! What if that's how this weird zombie disease is passed on?"

Oh God. I was starting to feel nauseous again. What if we were already infected? Or worse, what if only she was infected and I had to kill her? I couldn't!

"Christine, we need to get gas masks and like, skin protection. Pronto. On the double. ASAP."

A blue building behind her shoulder caught my attention, and I realized that I had been in this town years ago with Papa.

"Meg? How opposed are you to theft?"

* * *

"Why is there even a Holocaust museum in suburbia Illinois?" Meg questioned sharply as we crept through the unlit halls of the museum.

"This area actually has one of the highest Jewish populations outside of Israel."

I could almost feel her roll her eyes.

I had been here once before, a long time ago. Papa had taken me here when I was 16. He'd always said that the only way to ensure tragedies like this never happened again was to remember them. It hadn't exactly been _fun_, but it had been interesting. Now, though, it appeared that there were other things in here that could help us.

We'd already taken new duct tape, hats, and gloves from the gas station (leaving money behind, of course). The last part of our apocalypse outfits were currently sitting behind glass in an alarmed case.

"Will they even work?" I asked. They were old and World War II looking. Which made a lot of sense, I guess.

"It's better than nothing. Cover your eyes." Meg shrugged, and with the same ferocity that she had attacked the zombie with, she swung her bat at the glass. It shattered everywhere, and to my embarrassment, I screamed a little in surprise. Careful with the shards, Meg reached in and plucked two of the three gas masks from their place. Belatedly, I realized that an alarm was going off.

After getting hers on, Meg stepped over and helped me strap mine behind me head. It was _hot. _Uncomfortably so. Hot was better than dead, though. Or zombiefied.

"Right, how much do you think these are worth?" Meg asked, thumbing through her wallet.

"I have no idea. Technically they're artifacts, right?" My voice came out weird. I didn't like it.

After another second of deliberation, Meg left two twenties where the gas masks had once been. It was better than nothing, I guess.

"Come on. Let's go find our families."


	5. Gas Masks

_Erik_

_April 2018_

When she'd ambushed me that first night, I had believed for one terrifying moment that the girl had been my mother. Had I not been in excellent health, I likely would have died of a heart attack. The resemblance had been alarming. The girl's brown hair spoke of hot summer days locked in an attic, her flushed cheeks whispered of screams long silent, and her eyes- the same eyes that had once drowned me in their livid hatred. I thought the girl was my mother, risen from the grave to repay some imagined debt- but no, the girl was babbling frantically in Italian, not French. Her sandy fingers tightened on my wrists, and shades of a memory assaulted my mind.

_Shit! Ingrate! The devil may have cursed me with you, but I'll be damned if you don't behave!_

Heat flooded through my veins; red crept at the edges of my vision. Who was this child to presume she could fling herself at the nearest stranger? I should do away with the loathsome child. It would only take a moment, and it was unlikely the fool would survive this disaster in the first place. It would be all too simple...

"Nadir!"

Best not. It wouldn't do to be running from the authorities and the undead.

Bless Nadir's idiotic Afghani soul, for he burst out of the cornfield in record time, with his fly down, no less.

He seemed to understand my current state of mind rather quickly, and he, mercifully, pried the child off of me.

This irritating feeling in my chest didn't bode well for our current predicament. I couldn't exactly have a panic attack every time somebody who resembled my mother came into the picture. If only this accursed disease had never happened. I could hole up in my apartment for a week or two and be good as new.

The sound of Nadir saying my name snapped me out of my mind and placed me firmly in the present moment. Luckily for the girl, I had taken the time to familiarize myself with a majority of the world's romantic languages.

"_What is it that you want?"_

The girl threw herself at my feet. I took a measured step back from the snot and tears streaming out of her face.

"_I have little patience for hysterics, girl_..." I warned.

"_No_!" She jerked up. "_Sir, nobody here speaks my language! I was just here with my uncle, but this-this disease broke out, and I didn't know so I'd left! You must help me! I will die! By God, I will die if you do not help me_!"

"_You need go no further. You will remove yourself from my presence immediately."_

Her mouth fluttered in an attempt to say something before she promptly burst into more sobs. Wonderful. Nadir would surely find some way to blame her ridiculous hysterics on me.

"Erik! Is she all right?"

I considered telling him that she was a petty thief who had attempted to relieve us of our few supplies, but it was unlikely he would believe me. He was far too trusting of the fairer sex.

"She is fine. She asked for help, and I informed her that she would find none here."

"Erik! Of course she will!"

Perhaps I should have just killed her while I'd had the chance.

"Nadir-"

"Erik."

Did the stupid Persian have a death wish? I was sorely tempted to strangle them both in that moment. I'd have to kill Nadir first, as he would surely attempt to stop me if I strangled the girl. But then the child would wail even longer and louder, and I doubted that smothering her would shut her up. Damn the stupid fool.

"You're feeding her." I snapped and turned away before he could gloat.

_"You may stay, you stupid child. Quit your tantrum_."

To my horror, she attacked my feet and began to kiss them. I barely restrained myself from kicking her in the face before I stormed off.

Did Nadir not understand what it would be like to travel with some hysterical child? She would cry all the time, and eat all of our food! Perhaps I could poison her in her sleep. I would tell Nadir that a snake had snuck up in the night to bite her screaming throat. He would be none the wiser!

Except I doubted that he would believe it for a moment. He was always oddly suspicious of me, which got increasingly more irritating the longer we were together.

I knew one thing. The girl would be the death of the both of us.

* * *

"_What are you doing_?"

The voice came from behind my left shoulder. The girl had attempted to startle me, but I was smarter than she could ever dream of being. Her games, while mildly entertaining at first, were quickly becoming tedious.

"_Nothing, you mischievous snake. Leave me_."

Despite Nadir's promises, the foolish, irritating, _Luciana _had practically latched herself to my side with her inane questions. I will admit that I did not mind terribly, at first- in fact, I'd admired her pursuit of knowledge. It quickly became clear, though, that she either did not care or was unable to absorb the answers, as she would always ask the same questions over and over, her voice tickling my ear. If she didn't get infected and die soon, I'd have to rip her throat out myself.

"_My papa said you shouldn't play with guns. Peace is more important than violence."_

_"Your father is likely dead. We, however, will not be, if I can modify this properly."_

I had hardly any warning before she burst into tears again.

"_Why must you always say the meanest things_?" She blubbered before running to Nadir.

This had been going on for _a week._

And Nadir always took her side! They didn't even speak the same language, yet he always assumed it was _my _fault that she was blathering idiot. I could already see him gearing up to lecture me once more. Well, Erik was no child! He certainly didn't need to be punished like one!

"I'm getting firewood." I said sharply, rising from the ground. The acidity in my voice must have been severe, as Nadir did no more than glare at me as I turned and left.

Luckily, Nadir cooled down by the time I returned to our small camp, and I was left undisturbed while I attended to the fire. My luck did not hold out however.

"_I forgive you, you know_."

I very nearly threw the log at the girl's pretty little face.

"_I get that you're scared and are taking it out on me. So I forgive you."_ She smiled widely then, clearly pleased with herself. Instead of responding, I returned to modifying my weapons. The girl would need something, and I'd be damned if I gave her a firearm.

"_Why do the both of you always wear gas masks?_" She questioned next. Surprisingly, it was not one she'd asked before. I decided to grace her with an answer.

"_Nadir and I do not want to be infected. We will likely find one for you as well."_ Hopefully not. Hopefully she would have found her idiotic uncle by the time we reached the next town.

"_Are you very handsome underneath? You must be."_

It all became very clear, then. The girl was infatuated! With me, no less. Or what she thought me to be. I had never quite had an opportunity like this, and I admit that I could not restrain myself.

"_Oh, I am very handsome. Blue eyes, thick black hair. I had many girlfriends, but they all perished when the dead came back_."

"_Yes, I knew you were handsome_!" She exclaimed as she disregarded most of what I had said. It appeared that Luciana was exceptionally talented at deluding herself. _"I always knew that I would be saved by someone like you. Oh, you've made me so happy!"_

I watched Luciana flutter away before returning to my work. Stupid girl. She'd be the death of me yet.


	6. Red Canvas Backpack

_Christine_

_April 2018_

My stomach growled again. It reminded me of when I was living with Aunt Valerius and her Yorkshire Terrier. The tiny little dog would growl at the end of my tiny little bed, and it would growl and growl and growl until I let it crawl under pink covers that didn't quite reach my toes. And that tiny dog would scurry its way onto my stomach and fall asleep, warm and heavy and still growling with each breath, like a small humming noise at the base of my spine.

Maybe I was delusional. But that's all I could think about as Meg and I walked down the never-ending sidewalk towards my Papa's house. The gas mask hung heavy on my face, drawing, drawing my head down like a casing of lead. I wanted to eat—I really, truly did. But the food always brought images of dead woman in blue floral dresses, of the beeping of hospital monitors that screamed _dying_ in the place between my ears, of some book I had read in faraway history class that claimed the water, the grain in Salem had been tainted, and it made the villagers _sick, sick, sick_. If it wasn't the water or the food or the fear of death, it was the air swirling around us. It didn't matter whether or not it carried the disease that turned the men around us into mindless savages: it carried something like a maybe, and that was enough to keep the mask securely on my face.

Hunger always made me rather dramatic, I suppose.

A bout of laughter and a scream crashed ahead of us, and all thoughts of hunger scattered to someplace secondary.

While it was true that I could no longer see Meg's face, I had learned to read her body language in the last few weeks. Right now, it was saying she was _scared_. Meg, though, had always become sharper in the face of fear.

With reflexes that I could never hope to have, Meg snapped her fingers around my wrist and drew us both into the bushes at the side of the road. Her head landed somewhere on my stomach, and even though I was trying to catch my breath from the impact, I thought of that tiny, growling dog.

"Grab her arms, grab her arms!" A deep male voice said.

"No, please! I need, I need—"

"You need to shut up." Through the bushes that had become our hiding place, I could see.

The girl was young and pretty in a subtle sort of way, and surrounded by a group of armed men. A meaty hand was on her red canvas backpack (the red of blood on teeth, the red of a flat line). The man yanked, and the girl swung into the chest of one of the group, a woman that locked her arms around the girl, who had now begun to sob. With a laugh, the man pulled out a knife. My fingers tightened in Meg's hair.

With the flourish of a pendulum, the knife swung down, slashing at the straps on her shoulders. The backpack fell into someone's waiting arms, and the woman shoved the girl. She cried out as she plummeted to the gravel ground. Their stolen prize in hand, the group of vultures left their victim on the ground.

It felt like it should be silent afterwards, but the girl's sobs echoed, and the hunger in my stomach growled, and somewhere far, far away, a bird crowed.

"We should help her." Meg whispered, her voice low and filled with sorrow and regret.

"We should help her." I repeated, my voice cracking slightly at the end.

Meg began to push herself off of me, but nearly immediately, she dropped back down onto my stomach, forcing the breath out of my lungs. A man had emerged from the other side of the street and had approached the girl cautiously, hands held up to calm her.

"No, no, don't panic. I'm a doctor, I can help you—"

With a defensive scream, the girl drew herself from the ground and ran away. The man dropped his hands, defeated, before turning towards our bush.

"And you girls, are you all right? They didn't find you?"

Meg, braver than me by far, emerged from our bush. Hastily, nervously, I followed her out.

"Yah, we're all right." Meg said coolly, one hand on her hip and the other on her baseball bat. I clutched my impromptu weapon, a wood ax, like a lifeline in my sweaty hands.

"That's fortunate. Situations like this bring out the worst in people." The doctor said lightly, gazing down the road.

"Or the best. My name's Meg. This is Christine."

"Doctor Gregory Giovanni."

"Well, Doctor Gregory Giovanni, which way are you headed?"


End file.
